


Stabbed

by MsChievous



Series: Whumptober 2018 [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Accidental Stabbing, Angst, Blindness, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Serious Injuries, Stabbing, Whump, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-17 06:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16089728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsChievous/pseuds/MsChievous
Summary: There was a time when Ignis thought he could cook with his eyes closed, but as frustration bubbles up and he lashes out, Prompto is caught in the crossfires





	Stabbed

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ellay_gee with helping me talk this one over! I had no idea what I wanted to do with this and she gave me the idea for this bunch of wonderfulness

_ Chop chop ch-  _ “Damnit!” Ignis hisses against the pain in his finger, and a sense of helplessness and anger washes over him. He  _ used _ to think he could cook most meals with his eyes closed, but obviously, he was a delusional fool for entertaining such thoughts.

“Hey, Iggy, you okay?” Prompto’s voice asks from the next room over. Gods bless him for his warm heart, but it’s the last thing the advisor needs right now.

“Yes, Prompto,” He says tersely, clenching the knife tighter and trying to ignore the feeling of warm blood against his knuckle. “Merely a minor nick.” He hopes he didn’t get any on the cilantro he is chopping

“Hey, c’mon, why don’t you let me take over,” Prompto’s voice is getting closer, the sound of his footfalls louder. “Go and relax, I’ll be sure not to burn the place down.

“That is truly unnecessary, I have a  _ handle _ on this, Prompto. Please leave me be.” Fury curls up in his chest, just waiting to lash out at someone, and he  _ really _ doesn’t want to lash out at the only person who’s been so patient with him. Perhaps he should get Gladio on the line and use the razor-sharp tongue he’s so known for to cut the Shield down to size.

But he doesn’t have that option as Prompto’s hand claps on his shoulder, warm and vaguely sweaty and suddenly all the rage comes pouring out at once. He turns on his heel, away from Prompto’s hand. He means to turn into the empty air so that he can storm off to his room, but something-some _ one _ blocks his way, and it’s not until he hears a strangled grunt of pain that he realizes he’s still holding the knife.

_ No _ .

“A-are you okay?”

  
The blond whines, fingers clutching at Ignis’ arms, dragging him down to the ground as well. “Ig-” Prompto starts to speak, but a hacking cough cuts him off mid-word.

Static buzzes in Ignis’ ears and he tries desperately to think his way through. Prompto’s bleeding and needs immediate attention. He’s the only one that can give it. Mechanically, he gets to his feet and stumbles to the wall, feeling his way towards the bathroom. He wishes the vials were differentiated by shape or size as well as color, but he can only grab a handful and hope one of them is an elixir.

When he gets back, Prompto’s breathing is slower, more labored. Dread settles in the advisor’s stomach and he drops to his knees. His hands shake as they feel around for the wound, and he winces every time Prompto makes an aborted sound of pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” the advisor whispers, breath hitching in his throat when he finally finds it. 

He rips the knife away as cleanly as he can, but Prompto still screams, voice hoarse from holding back most of it, and Ignis can’t help but wince away from it. He unstops the vial and feels around for the wound as lightly as he can, pouring it little by little. 

Three vials later, Prompto grabs his wrist and sits up with a rustle of fabric. “Iggy, I-I’m okay now.”

Ignis runs a hand up a from a thin shoulder to a freckled cheek. “Y-yes. Yes, you are. I’m glad.”

“I-I guess I’ll take this, then? You-you should… I think you should clean yourself up. I’ll handle the rest.”

The advisor stays where he is, sitting in the living room with the feel of his friend’s blood over his hands.

 

 


End file.
